So I go home today and my mom stops me outside a just hugs me. Then she tells me that they put our dog down last week. It hurts so bad. Especially since she was more my dog than anyone else's until I moved. I was the last one to know. ... I didn't even get to say goodbye. T-T I went inside and all of her stuff was gone. I kept expecting her to run up to me any minute with her tail wagging like crazy. When I went up stairs I kept to one side because she always would push past me to the top and block my path. It was so weird to go an entire day without hearing her collar jingling or claws clicking on the floor when she walked from one room to the other to find the best spot.

She was just shy of 12 years old. We got her on Thanksgiving 2000 from family. My stepfather brought her home in his shirt pocket. she was a tiny thing, but not the runt, the mother had stopped feeding them earlier than normal. I gave her my stuffed animals and we had a ticking clock for her in a tote for her to sleep with.

She had it good, she was the baby. Free reign of the furniture, a pillow in every room, a huge yard to play in, and a family that loved her dearly.

RIP Chloe, my fuzzball. I love you.